Angel's Trial
by metallover
Summary: Stranded behind enemy lines is a single squad of Adeptus Astartes of the Blood Angels chapter. Their mission: return alive to their base. My entry into the Black Library Short Story Competition


_Okay, I happen to know for a fact it's been ages since I've done... well, anything on the topic of fanfics. There's been a lot on my plate, not to mention LOSING most of my stuff when I changed my working computers. Grrrr. Bloody technology. Anyway, I intend to do some original stuff for a while. Haven't figured out what I'm gonna do with it, seeing as I can't put it here... Oh well. This story I wrote for the Black Library Short Story competition about Space Marines. It wasn't chosen, but I've had some positive feedback (up yours, nay-sayers!) so please, enjoy._

**Angel's Trial**

Shells were falling all around, creating huge craters in the rain drenched earth. Through the haze of rain and earth, giant shapes clad in bright red power armour darted from cover. Space Marines of the Blood Angels second company. The champions of mankind, proudly displaying the blood drop flanked by wings on their shoulder.

Fourth squad, led by Brother-Sergeant Zanza, darted gracefully in pairs from one cover to the next, despite their size. The Brother-Sergeant was last to move, his chainsword powering up to full revs. Two of the marines took cover in one of the shell craters, both being showered in dirt by a shell landing and exploding nearby.

"We need to get through the shelling!" Brother-Sergeant Zanza shouted.

"Yes, Brother Sergeant," the rest of the squad intoned.

"Move," he ordered.

They advanced further, to where the craters became less and farther in between, and flashes of red light began searing by. Heretics against the immortal God-Emperor's will had dug into a trench, armed with las rifles, the standard infantry rifle that shot super hot lasers. The Heretics were giving away their position in a trench by firing too early. A stupid mistake by untrained fools.

"Covering fire!" Zanza called.

The marines lined up, and opened fire. Seven bolters, the chosen weapon of the Space Marines, a flamer, the support weapon in the shape of a flamethrower, and a bolt pistol, a smaller version of the bolter, were all blasting at the line of heretics, while one marine charged in ahead to engage the enemy in their trench. The red giant barrelled through the enemy fire, twelve inch combat knife in one hand, bolter in the other, shots scorching his armour where glancing blows hit. He dove into the trench, landing feet first on one of the Heretics, reducing him to a pile of bone and tainted flesh. Opening up with his bolter one handed, and slicing off entire limbs and cleaving bodies when they came too close, he moved through the trench. The other marines advanced, leaping into the trench after him. A frenzied melee ensued, with the Heretics being crushed and torn to pieces by the assault. The rout lasted five minutes. When they were finished, the ten marines gathered and looked to their sergeant for further orders.

"Keep moving," Zanza told the marines. "And Maris?"

The marine that led the charge stopped. "Yes Brother-Sergeant?"

"Nice work. Well done," he told him, clapping his hand on the marine's shoulder guard, before leaping out of the trench to move with the others.

Beneath his bright red helmet, Maris smiled. The Sergeant never gave out compliments, and when he did, the men he gave them to had to have done exceedingly well.

"Go, brother," one of the other marines told him. "Don't get cocky."

"Good point. I wouldn't wish to become too much like you, brother," Maris countered, before leaping out of the trench, the other marine behind him.

The brother that had spoken to him, Nakis, laughed.

"Arrogant little whelp," he muttered under his breath, before leaping over the trench to join his squad.

Squad four had been fighting in the war scarred fields of Korin Primaris for three weeks. In those three weeks the squad had fought their way from the space port in the planet's capital, to the outlying farmsteads where the Heretical cults were putting up the most resistance. The true reason that they'd been sent to the backwater planet, to counter the traitor marines that had supposedly been deployed to guard the world, was nowhere to be found.

Maris advanced through the enemy territory, running as fast as his genetically modified legs would carry him. While he ran, his mind slipped, and returned to simpler times, when life was so much easier.

It had been twenty years ago, on the scorched desert moon of Baal Secondus in orbit around Baal Primus. The world had been lush and green once, thousands, perhaps millions of years ago. None of the tribesmen knew what had happened, or when it had, but stories handed down through the tribes told of a great calamity falling out of the sky, striking the land, and turning the world into the arid desert it was now.

Maris was the son of the chieftain of the Flaming Sky Tribe. His great grand father had travelled to the place of trials years ago, to join the Angels of Blood on the great planet across the gulf of stars. Whether or not he had was unknown, for once an individual left for the trials, they rarely came back, and when they did, it was in disgrace for failing the Angels tests. Maris liked to look up to the sky and believe his great grand father was up there, fighting on battlefields so far away he couldn't fathom, fighting for the great Emperor.

The time came for the next trials, and Maris was old enough to go. He wasn't the best warrior in his tribe, but it was expected that the son of the chieftain would go and join the Angels. It was every warriors dream. He'd killed a juvenile fire scorpion, the huge predators that stalked the sands of Baal Secondus, and helped take down a full grown one, even fought with the other tribes of the small moon. But the thought of leaving his home, never to return, to fight against creatures that could kill him with but a look, terrified the young tribesman.

The journey to Angel's Fall, the place of the trials, was long and hard, two of the young warriors succumbing to the harsh desert. The remaining three, Maris, and two older warriors, arrived the day before the trials, and were one of the first groups. They had to leave their tribal banners and pennants outside the naturally made coliseum; all men were said to be equal inside.

Upon entering, they were forced to fight each other, to compete against one another in obstacle courses, and to kill or be killed to pass the trials.

Their final test to join the Angels was much harder. In teams of four, they were given spears and swords, and light armour, forced to kill a full grown Bull Fire Scorpion, and have all the team members survive. They did this, and passed with full marks. The drill Sergeants then took them onto the thunder-birds, beasts of metal that carried them away from Baal Secondus, to Baal Primus, to their destiny.

"Maris!" Zanza called. "Look out!"

In his trip into the past, Maris failed to notice the pinging on the motion tracking display in his helmet.

"Traitors!" one of the marines called.

Eight traitor Space Marines charged out of the smoke. They wore black and pink power armour, trophies of skin and skulls clattering on their ceremite plates, and carried bolters spitting death at the squad. One had a Doom Siren attached to his power pack.

"Death to the false Emperor!" they cried, the one with the Doom Siren activating it, causing the optics in all the Blood Angel's helmets to malfunction.

"For the Emperor and Sanginius!" Zanza called to his squad, tearing off his now useless helmet.

"For the Emperor!" the rest of the squad called, their collective helmets hitting the wet ground.

The two sides met like thunder, combat knives biting into ceremite armour, chainswords and power swords clashing, bolters firing at close range. The chaos marines were bigger and stronger than the Blood Angels, but the loyalist marines were faster than their tainted cousins.

Maris flew at one of the tainted marines, a great beast wearing a mask over half of its face, knocking it down and plunging his knife into its chest, blasting at the Doom Siren on the back of another. While his concentration was split, the chaos soldier bashed his ceremite clad fist into the side of Maris' head, knocking the young marine to the ground. The traitor stood over him, grinning through its half mask, Maris' knife protruding from its chest plate, foul blood leaking out of the wound. Maris had a beast inside him. All the Blood Angels did, along with their successor chapters. The Black Rage, the Red Thirst, the Blood Angel's Gene curse. This beast gave them strength, because they had to fight to control it every day of their reborn lives. The rage made them faster and stronger and raised their reaction time when they were under duress, and with a swiftness belying his huge size, Maris grabbed his fallen bolter, firing into the traitor's face, exploding its brains out of the back of its tainted head. Maris stood and returned to the fray, stooping to pull his knife out of the traitor's chest without breaking stride.

One Blood Angel fell, his head a pulp of brain and bone, the traitor marine being cooked inside his armour seconds later by the Blood Angel with the flamer. Zanza decapitated one traitor, flicking the gore from his chainsword. He'd fought traitors before. These were no different. They bled and died like all the others. The Aspiring Champion, leader of the Traitor Marines, disembowelled one of the Blood Angels, laughing. Zanza cut the arm off another traitor, and then cleaved its foul body from shoulder to hip, his chainsword beginning to over heat. The Aspiring Champion and the Brother Sergeant's gazes met across the battlefield. The Traitor bellowed a wordless battle cry, Zanza screaming the name of the Emperor as loud as he could, both charging towards each other. Tainted power blade met righteous chainsword, the teeth jamming on the blade. The chaos champion grinned, putting pressure on his blade, pushing Zanza back. The chaos marine stood a full foot taller than Zanza, and outweighed him by at least a tonne. Zanza was outmatched and he knew it. With a roar of rage, Zanza broke the stalemate, shoving the traitor backwards, firing with his bolt pistol. Two of the shots struck home, the rest going wide. The chaos marine staggered, then lunged with his blade.

From Maris's position, it looked as if the chaos marine and the brother sergeant were locked in an embrace, as if they were lovers. Maris knew this was impossible, and that there was only one other option. Crying his mentor's name, he ran to where the two duellists were beginning to fall to their knees.

"Brother Sergeant!" Maris called, blasting a traitor marine foolish enough to stand in his way.

"Sir!" he tried again, throwing the traitor of his Brother Sergeant and putting a round through its face.

He was too late. The brother sergeant was already dead. Maris knelt next to his teacher for a while, oblivious to the battle raging around him. When the shooting stopped, three of the ten Blood Angels stepped up behind Maris.

"The battle is ours," Jeth said gravely.

His hair was short cropped and sandy brown, an old burn scar decorating half his face where Tyranid bio-acid had eaten through his helmet to permanently scar him. Nakis couldn't help but wonder at what cost. The Marine was coated in the ichor of the enemies. The fluids around his mouth hinted that he'd let his fangs taste tainted flesh.

"One of their squads for half of ours," Barlud said quietly.He was short and stocky for a space marine, light brown hair getting to the codex's specified length limit.

"Even if they are of the elites, this is too much," Nakis said.

Jeth noticed that Maris was still kneeling by the Brother Sergeant's corpse. Zanza had been like a second father to Maris. Zanza had chosen Maris to become a Blood Angel. He'd been Maris' sergeant since he was a scout, and had taught Maris everything he knew.

"He was a good man," Jeth said to Maris, squatting down and placing a hand on the youth's shoulder.

"He deserved a better death," Maris said, his voice raked with grief.

"He died doing the will of the Emperor," Barlud told the youth. "None of us could ask for a better end."

"Take the progenoid glands from the others," Jeth said to Nakis and Barlud. When the others had gone to take the glands, he asked Maris "Would you like me to do it?"

"No," he answered. "I can do it."

Jeth, the most senior of the survivors, and obvious choice for command, nodded and walked to help the others.

Maris swallowed, undid the clasps and removed the chest plate from the dead brother sergeant. All Space Marines had the progenoid gland, their gene seed, implanted in them on induction to their chapter. Upon death, it was a marine's duty to harvest the glands so that they may be used again for the next generation of neophytes, the Space Marine initiates. Exposing the sergeant's bare chest, Maris drew his knife, made sure it was clean, and then opened his mentor's chest. Finding the precious gland, Maris cut it loose, slipping it into a small vial he produced from a pouch in his belt. Sealing the vial, and being satisfied it was safe, he placed it back in his pouch. The marines placed all the chaos marines into a pile, and burned them with Nakis' flamer. Then, with Jeth leading a prayer to the Emperor, they lined their fallen battle brothers up; hands placed over their primary hearts, weapons in their hands, and lit them in a funeral pyre.

The shelling had stopped while the two groups of Space Marines had been fighting. Jeth ordered a retreat back to their own lines. Normally a squad would keep going with its primary objective, but when fifty percent losses were inflicted, the codex, the guidelines of all the Space Marine chapters, clearly stated that they pull back to regroup.

They trudged silently through the war blasted lands that had once been a lush meadow. Maris sighed. War was pointless. Not the quest to destroy the enemies of the Imperium; that was glorious. But destroying a world to root out a few heretics grated at Maris' conscience.

The comm units all went off at once. Static, followed by a garbled order to all Imperial troops to retreat. The men stopped and looked at each other.

"This can only mean one thing," Barlud said.

"Our lines have been pushed back about five hundred kilometres," Jeth said, consulting his auspex, the small hand held locater he wore on his belt.

"This is just great," Nakis said, walking a few steps before stopping again. "What now?"

"Our last orders were to retreat to the Imperial lines," Maris said, matter of factly.

"He's right," Jeth agreed. "We need to get back to our own lines."

"We might be able to co-ordinate a pincer movement if we can get into range of the Imperial forces," Barlud added.

"But we'll have to go through enemy held territory," Nakis told them. "That means heretics, more traitor marines," he paused.

"Daemons," Maris finished.

"We still have to try," Jeth said.

"Agreed," Barlud said. "Plus, we still have the gene seeds to take back."

"Exactly," Jeth said. "Move out."

The four marines kept walking, well into the night, in the direction they had come earlier that day.

Later that night the four Blood Angels came up on the former site of the Imperial front lines. A light mist had descended, and bodies lay where they fell, some in pieces, others with gnaw marks from what Maris guessed were humans and other less than human creatures. The mist reeked of musk and decay. The burned out remains of tanks dotted the battle ground. Many had the charred remains of their crew in them.

Something had moved behind the remains of one of the tanks, and the remainder of the squad snapped to combat readiness. Jeth made some precise hand gestures, and the group split to cover both ends of the wreck. Maris began wishing for the advanced target finders that his helmet had until it was reduced to a useless hunk of metal. Infra red, night vision and automatic target finders were just some of the things that the Mk VII power armour helmets had. Although Maris and all marines were trained to fight without their helmets, they sure made things easier. The two groups came to the edges of the tank, and with another hand signal, leapt out to face their unseen foe. The space between them was empty.

"Where is it?" Nakis asked, lowering his bolter.

"We're in chaos held territory," Barlud said. "It could have just been a mirage."

"We can't take that chance," Jeth said, pulling out the auspex.

"It says we're the only things around for kilometres," Maris said, looking over Jeth's shoulder.

"I guess it was a mirage," Jeth was saying, when a small, vaguely human form appeared out of the mist behind him.

"Brother, watch out!" Nakis warned, raising his flamer, followed seconds later by Maris and Barlud's bolters.

Jeth dived forward seconds before a large scything limb sliced through the air where his neck had been, and the other three opened fire. The daemon creature went down in a hail of bullets and liquid fire. As it hit the ground, four more appeared out of the mist.

"Open fire!" Jeth ordered, leading by example. "For the Emperor!"

The deamonettes took the form of stunningly beautiful naked women. They were not attractive in a conventional sense, their arms ended in scything limbs, and instead of hair their heads ended in thick fleshy protrusions. But they projected an aura of warp magic that would have normal men struck dumb and unable to fire upon them. But the Blood Angels, like all Space Marines, were mentally conditioned to resist the many forms of warp magic.

The deamons were running circles around the marines, popping in and out of the material universe to make a small wound on an arm or a leg, then disappearing back into the immaterium. The marines knew they were being toyed with. And nobody toyed with Space Marines of the Blood Angels chapter. Anticipating his opponent's next move, Jeth struck out with the back of his hand, knocking the daemon to the ground, where he filled it with bolter shells. Seeing that the marines could hurt them, the deamonettes screeched, and began trying to do real damage. The three remaining deamons made a rough triangle around Barlud, then, smiling seductively with needle point teeth, they began to hack and slash at the helpless marine. Against one, Barlud would have been more than a match. But alone against three of the foul deamons, he didn't stand a chance.

Screaming with rage, Jeth charged to the aid of the stricken marine, bolter in one hand, primed grenade in the other. One of the deamons stopped to look at the charging marine, and with an almost disinterested movement, severed the tendons in Jeth's grenade arm through the bicep. Falling backwards, Jeth could do nothing but grin at his success.

The three deamons stopped butchering Barlud, and watched the grenade roll into their midst. They screamed shrill, loud death knells as it went off, engulfing all of them in a fire ball.

"Brother Jeth?" Nakis said, shaking the wounded marine. "Brother? Are you still among us?"

"Who would lead you if I wasn't?" he said weakly, coughing slightly.

"Well, at least your sense of humour is intact," Maris said, gathering the surviving ammunition from Barlud's charred corpse.

"His gene seed?" Jeth asked while Nakis worked on his wounds.

"Destroyed by the blast," Maris said, slipping his former squad mate's ammo into his belt pouches.

"Better destroyed than falling into the hands of the enemy," Nakis reassured the wounded marine.

"Yes," Jeth agreed. "What of the deamons?"

"They received the brunt of the blast," Nakis said, spraying the stump of Jeth's arm with synth flesh to seal the wound. "You're burned quite badly," Nakis told him. "I don't think we'll have enough synth flesh to coat it all."

"Get the worst places then," Maris told Nakis.

"The youth is correct," Jeth said. The codex stated that in the event of there not being enough medical equipment, the worst wounds were to be treated first.

"I knew that," Nakis said sheepishly. "I was just testing him."

"Sure you were, brother," Maris said, sliding a fresh sickle round into his bolter.

"Arrogant whelp," Nakis muttered, spraying the worst of Jeth's burn wounds.

The now trio began the rest of their trek soon after Nakis had used up the last of the synth flesh on Jeth. Now the two semi-whole marines had to take turns carrying the half conscious Jeth. Both Maris and Nakis had their fair share of wounds. Nakis had a deep gouge on his breast plate from the deamonettes, and Maris had scratches all over his armour, as well as the las burns from their encounter with the heretics earlier the day before. It was early in the morning of the second day, about two or three in the morning. Now they were closer to the arch enemy's front, and they began to more frequently have to hide from patrols in burned out tanks or shell craters.

Maris kept expecting to be found, to be shot at, to be captured and sacrificed to some other worldly deity. But the Emperor was with them, and they were able to hide from the heretics and traitors. They were coming up on the artillery guns the enemy was using to hammer their lines. Maris and Nakis hid in a ditch to discuss further plans.

"We should do something about those guns," Maris pointed out.

"With what?" Nakis asked, settling Jeth on the bottom of the ditch. "All we have left are some grenades."

"A strategically placed grenade should blow the guns, or at least disable them," Maris said.

"He's right," Jeth said, struggling to sit up. "We need to do something."

"We will do all we can," Maris said to the injured marine. "You will have to stay behind though, brother."

"I can fight," Jeth assured them, rising to his knees.

"Stay still brother," Nakis told him, gently pushing Jeth back down. "You're of no help to us now. Wait here for our return."

Jeth sullenly agreed.

"Here," Maris said, giving Jeth his bolt pistol. "Keep this. Only use it if you have to."

"Pretentious pup," Jeth said, taking the pistol.

Maris and Nakis crawled back to the top of the ditch.

"We'll need to be quick," Nakis said. "You take three in that direction; I'll take three in that. Kill the gunnery crews, and put a grenade in the internal mechanisms with the timer set for ten minutes. Go."

The guns were infernal parodies of Imperial Basilisks, huge barrels pointing to the sky, and built on a common tank chassis. They sprinted in opposite directions, Maris running to the closest gun. He reached the side and stopped. If he didn't want the rest of the gun crews to know he was coming, he'd have to use his knife. Drawing the blade, he leapt up onto the tank, and quietly killed the two surprised heretics. Satisfied the other crews had no idea what had happened, he planted his first grenade and leapt to the ground. Thanking the Emperor for the darkness, he raced to the second gun and repeated the process. Halfway to the third gun, Maris realized it was quiet. They'd over-looked the most important detail. Without a crew, the guns wouldn't shoot.

As this thought dawned on him, flood lights came on from the top of the third tank, harsh and white, leaving Maris completely exposed in the open. The flood lights were followed closely by las fire from the twenty odd heretics surrounding Maris. The marine laughed, and continued running. Las fire couldn't do more than burn the paint off his armour. He opened up with his bolter, dismembering the crew of the third tank, and threw his last grenade, before turning to run back to the ditch. When he had got past the second tank, and was about to reach the first, bolter fire began to fly past him.

The chaos marines had arrived to end the threat to their artillery. They howled for his blood. As he was halfway past the first gun, a figure stood up out of their ditch, opening fire with a small calibre bolter. Jeth was trying to cover Maris' retreat.

Maris reached the ditch, spun and began firing into the oncoming chaos tide. Only after Maris had turned did he see the scale of what had been chasing him. Three full squads, thirty traitor marines, had appeared from their base near the guns, led by a chaos marine in ancient tactical dreadnaught armor. A Terminator of Chaos.

"Run!" Jeth told Maris. "Go! I'll hold them as long as I can!"

"Maris!" Nakis called from further down the ditch. "Let's move!"

"Here, brother!" Maris yelled over the gunfire, handing Jeth his bolter. "The Emperor protect you!"

"May he watch over you, brother!" Jeth called back, firing the bolt pistol in his wounded hand and the bolter from his other. Maris turned and ran towards where Nakis was waiting, and the two moved as fast as their augmented legs could carry them away from the guns. Maris looked back in time to see the first of the traitor marines reach Jeth, seconds before the grenades went off. A split second later and the grenades set off the left over ammunition in the earthshakers. The explosion incinerated everything around it, and the last two Blood Angels of fourth squad watched the heroic end of Brother Jeth.

"It's down to just us now," Maris said.

Nakis did nothing but nod, too shocked for words.The two Blood Angels had taken cover in an abandoned trench. Nakis looked out the opening to the trench at the sky.

"We'd better keep moving," he said, getting up.

"Are you all right, brother?" Maris asked standing and placing a reassuring hand on Nakis' shoulder.

"Like you said," Nakis said grimly. "It's down to just us now. We're all that's left of fourth squad. It's up to us to retreat and continue Brother Sergeant Zanza's work."

Maris nodded, and wished he'd kept his bolter. All he had left was his pistol and knife, no grenades, and only a handful of spare shells for the pistol. Nakis' flamer was almost out of fuel. He, too had a pistol, but the situation was about the same.

"Let's go then," Maris said, stepping into the night.

The two marines made good time in the direction of the Imperial lines' last reported position. Without Jeth's auspex, they had no idea how much farther they had left to go. They trudged on in a weary silence, both with weapons at the ready. Maris couldn't help but feel like they weren't going to make it. The whole squad was gone, all but himself and Nakis. They were almost at a weapons out, no ammo or fuel left. They'd fight with sticks and harsh language if they had to. It was their duty to return to the Imperial lines and help destroy the chaos taint. They continued to where the sound of gunfire became regular, and explosions could be seen lighting up the early morning sky.

Finally, they topped a rise and looked down into a valley where the battle was being fought. The Imperials were hard pressed on all sides, Guardsman firing from whatever cover was available, what few tanks remained firing from tactical positions.

"There they are," Nakis said. "We finally made it."

Maris nodded agreement, and racked the slide of his borrowed bolt pistol. Their radios garbled static, until a voice could be heard.

_"Hold the line! Reinforcements are coming!"_

"I hope they don't mean us," Maris joked, trying to ease the tension.

"I can see the smoke and dust from a large convoy," Nakis said, holding a pair of battered magnoculars to his eyes. "They're probably the ones that were being spoken of."

"It was a joke," Maris muttered quietly, taking the magnoculars to look. "They look about twenty minutes off. We should probably try to join with the Imperial Guard first."

"Agreed," Nakis said, jumping off the ridge.

Maris sighed, and then followed Nakis down, jumping then sliding to the valley floor. They reached the bottom and ran to the Imperial lines. Maris stopped a soldier running to bolster the flagging Imperial line.

"Who's in charge?" he asked the awe struck trooper, who could only stare in shock at the giant in blood red armour.

"Who!?" Nakis yelled, drawing the attention of some of the other guardsmen, and earning a glance from Maris.

"C-c-colonel Dae is i-in charge," the trooper stuttered, pointing further back down the valley.

"Good," Nakis said, turning away.

Maris watched him go a few metres.

"You must not fear us," he told the trembling guardsman. "We fight and die for the Emperor the same way you do."

"Are you coming?" Nakis called to him.

"Yes, brother," Maris called jogging to the quickly receding form of Nakis, leaving the terrified guardsman to collapse to his knees and breathe a sigh of relief.

"That wasn't necessary," Maris told Nakis, catching up.

"It was necessary to completing our objectives of securing this planet for the Emperor and the Imperium," Nakis said without turning or breaking stride.

"But that guardsman is a soldier of the Emperor, the same as us," Maris argued.

"Exactly," Nakis said, still not turning. "He is Guard. What is their purpose but not to die for the Emperor? We are worth a hundred of him."

"That's not the point!" Maris said, his voice rising. "He is a citizen of the Imperium, like us! He is human! Just like us!"

"Wrong!" Nakis yelled, finally turning. "We are not human any more! We gave up our humanity in service to the Emperor when we took the gene seed into ourselves!"

"That's not when you lost your humanity," Maris said quietly. "You lost it when you stopped caring about the lives of others." Maris pushed past the stunned marine, towards the command tent. Nakis stood, deep in thought.

Maris strode purposefully up to the tent. The two guards outside stopped him.

"The colonel is in an important tactical meeting," one of them said. "He is not to be disturbed."

"Why are you here and not at the front?" Maris asked them.

"The Colonel commanded it," the other soldier said, as if Maris was stupid for asking.

"Consider yourselves relieved," Maris told the duo. "Go to the front. Do what you can."

"But the colonel's orders were to-"

"It's alright, you two may go," a voice inside the tent said. "And you, who would question my authority, come in here."

The two soldiers hastened towards the fighting while Maris held up one of the tent flaps and ducked down to enter. The Colonel sat at a desk, his storm coat hanging on a hook on the centre pole, his sword propped up against the desk. A commissar, one of the political officers in charge of morale and punishment, stood next to him, looking at a tactical map. When Maris entered he looked up and gasped.

"By the Emperor!"

Colonel Dae smiled. "Forgive my companion," he said. "He has not yet seen one of the Astartes before."

"I have been getting quite a few funny looks today," Maris said to the man.

"Commissar, you're catching flies," Dae said, smiling deeper.

The commissar shut his mouth and stood at attention.

"What is your position, Colonel?" Maris asked.

"Come, look at this map," Dae said, beckoning Maris over. "This is where we are, a small, but vital point that the Arch enemy could use to get behind our forces. My regiment was stationed here with what few tanks could be spared. We couldn't really do much while those guns were firing, but we held the line fairly well, given the circumstances."

"We did that," Maris told him.

"There's more than one of you?" the Commissar asked, a little more composed.

"There were three of us at one point," Maris explained. "One of us fell when we blew the guns, and I fear that the other may no longer be of sound mind."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dae said.

"I'm sorry to have to say it," Maris said ruefully.

"I should tell you though," Maris said, his voice low, "a large force of Chaos Space Marines was sighted when we eliminated the guns."

"Well, we've been promised reinforcements from the main battle, where things seem to be going favourably," Dae continued. "They should be here in about ten minutes."

"I will go to the front line and do what I can then," Maris told him.

"That would be much appreciated," Dae said to Maris. "The sight of one of the Astartes would do more for morale than this slacker ever could," he added, indicating over his shoulder.

"That's a little harsh, sir," the commissar said in a mock hurt voice.

Maris grinned. "I'd better get going then." He exited the tent, and quickly scanned the camp for Nakis. The marine had disappeared. Maris sighed, and began heading towards the front line.

Nakis had been sullen since the death of their Brother Sergeant. Maris had heard of this before. All the signs pointed towards the black rage. The Blood Angels, in times of stress, and before a great battle, could fall into the black rage. When their Primarch Sanginius died at the hands of Horus, his violent death left a stain on the gene seed that was still felt ten millennia later. Nakis had slipped into its grasp, and it was only a matter of time until he descended into the final memories of Sanginius, and eventually become a raving feral, and without a chaplain to guide Nakis, he'd become a danger to himself and others.

Maris reached the front line, and began firing. He made every shot a kill shot, and the Guardsmen around him were inspired by his skill. A cry rose from the Chaos lines. The chaos space marines Maris thought had been mostly eliminated had caught up, and were moving to engage the Imperials.

"Hold the line!" Colonel Dae cried, in full combat gear, brandishing his blade. "Hold!"

"Maris opened fire and was rewarded when one of the traitors dropped. Another roar went up from the heretic lines, this time from a single throat. The Chaos Terminator, armour scorched and pitted, wielding a huge chain axe and power sword, was charging towards the Imperial lines.

Maris watched a chaos marine fall, and drop his bolter. He took a deep breath, and then dashed out from cover, snatching the fallen bolter and opening fire. The chaos bolter was similar to the standard bolder, but of older and more showy design.

His first salvo found a chaos marine and dropped him, his second blasting another off his feet. The clip ran dry and he knelt to find another magazine from the fallen traitor's corpse. Reloading, Maris continued firing.

Maris began running and firing from the hip at the tainted terminator.

It ignored the shots and continued charging. Colonel Dae, seeing what it was doing, moved in front of it. Maris had never seen someone brave or stupid enough to face down a charging chaos terminator. The terminator brought its sword up, and Dae dodged to the left, bringing his own blade up. He managed to score a line across the terminator's armoured chest plate, and, howling in rage, the terminator brought his blade back around. Dae dropped, but still took the blow from the flat of the blade on the side of his head.

Screaming his rage, Maris continued firing, stopping ten metres from the beast. One of the shots finally penetrated the near impervious armour, catching the traitor's attention.

"Over here you filthy warp spawn!" he called.

With a grunt the terminator began lumbering to Maris, just as the Blood Angel loaded his last clip into his borrowed weapon. The terminator had come within striking distance of Maris, who, like the brave colonel, held his ground, even when the Terminator brought its axe up.

Maris closed his eyes and prepared to go to the Emperor, when he heard another shout.

"Horus! I've come for you!"

Maris opened his eyes in time to see Nakis, fully under the sway of the Black Rage, tackle the hulking terminator to the ground.

"I've got him, Dorn!" Nakis yelled to Maris, mistaking him in his hallucinations for the Primarch of the Imperial Fists, Rogal Dorn, and began stabbing repeatedly into the terminator's unguarded head with his combat knife. The terminator, knowing its end was near, brought its axe up from underneath it, shearing off its sword arm, but cutting off both of Nakis'.

"Foul daemon!" Maris yelled, opening fire, and finishing Nakis' work.

When he was confident that the terminator was dead, Maris knelt next to the fast expiring Nakis. The axe had been coated in a potent poison, one strong enough to beat a space marine's advanced immune system. If it had just been a normal axe, then Nakis would have lived, but the poison stopped his blood from congealing, and Nakis had almost bled out.

"Brother," he said weakly.

"Is your mind your own once again?" Maris asked the last member of his squad.

"Yes," Nakis said. "My mind is my own. Thanks to you. You made me realize that we may be more than human, but we once were like those who fear us."

"Be still brother," Maris said quietly, beginning to tie the stumps of Nakis' arms with rope to stop the blood flow. "There's still a chance for you to survive."

"No," Nakis said, blood bubbling up from his mouth. "It's too late for me. Promise me; promise you'll lead our squad well."

"I promise you brother," Maris said, his voice raw with grief. "I promise you."

As Nakis passed on to the realm of the dead, one of the chaos marines lept at the kneeling Blood Angel. He closed his eyes, prepared to follow Nakis into death, when a loud _snap-crack_ echoed through the valley.

Maris was splattered with foul ichor, and realized that he could hear the sounds of engines now. Turning back he could see the bright red rhinos, the transport tank of the space marines, and bikes from the rest of the Blood Angels force. A scout, his head and sniper rifle poking out of the top hatch of the lead rhino, waved and fired again, dropping another chaos marine about to reach Maris.

The Blood Angels force quickly overpowered the last of the Emperor's Children, and secured the valley. Dae, limping badly and holding his arm, came over to where Maris was still kneeling.

"He died well," the Colonel said softly. "No warrior of the Imperium could ask for more."

"I know," Maris said, rising. "I know."

"What now?" Dae asked the Blood Angel.

"For me? I will report back to my Brother Captain, and rebuild my shattered squad. For you?" Maris stopped a moment and looked the Imperial Guardsman in the eye. "You're the colonel."

"I never thought I'd see the day I met a space marine with a sense of humour," Dae chuckled, wincing.

"You should see a medic," Maris told him.

"You're probably right," Dae said, and limped away. "It was an honour to know you, Maris of the Blood Angels," he called over his shoulder.

Maris nodded, and then shielded his eyes from a ray of light that appeared from no where.

He looked to the horizon, and smiled.

He had persevered.

He had survived.

And the dawn had come.

_Violence AND cheesy endings? You bet! As per usual, I welcome any and all feedback that doesn't crush my fragile spirit._


End file.
